


In the Cursed Forest of Bern

by Dracoduceus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Athena is a spirit trapped in a library, Blowjobs, Brigitte is a werebear, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Hunter!McCree, Implied dragon!Symmetra, M/M, McHanzo Reverse Bang 2018, Public Sex, References to Period-Typical Homophobia, Some mind control, Vampire!Hanzo, handjobs, no one knows what D.Va is, okay a lot of mind control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 06:33:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15813399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoduceus/pseuds/Dracoduceus
Summary: Hunter Jesse McCree was on his way to his next assignment when he found himself lost in a cursed forest. After a series of strange events he comes across the lord of the lands, the mysterious Hanzo, who doesn't act like a lord at all.Hanzo directs the Hunter to a nearby village which he also owns and invites him to dinner and to stay the night with him. Feeling oddly pulled in that direction, McCree obeys and finds that "dinner" and "staying the night" have different meanings.





	1. Forest of Bleached Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the McHanzo Reverse Bang 2018 with the amazing (and adorable) [akh-irr](http://akh-irr.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As an additional note, please heed the **dubious consent** tag. Hanzo is a ~~spoiled~~ vampire lord that messes with people because he is bored. This includes pretty new toys like Jesse. He does actually care for him and Jesse cares for Hanzo in return but Hanzo definitely manipulates Jesse quite a bit.

“What kind of person names their horse Rock?” McCree asked no one in particular. He watched as the horse’s ears flicked back, left then right, and then forward in the same order. He looked over at the other hose walking calmly beside him. “Or Tree?” He huffed impatiently and tried not to groan and slouch in the saddle.

He let his eyes roam. The road was an empty place, the land surrounding it barren and desolate. Well, perhaps that wasn’t fair – many thought the desert just as barren and desolate but he knew better.

The trees lining the road were leafless with trunks either white as bleached bone or black like coal. They reached with clawed, groping hands for the sky and over the road as if yearning for each other or to snag an unwary traveler. Between the trees the forest seemed empty, leafless shrubs clinging to gnarled roots and colored with the thick blue-grey mud that seemed to lurk in the shadows of this strange forest.

There seemed to be no living thing nearby: no birds flying overhead, no creature scuttling through the trees, only the metronomic plod of Tree and Rock.

“It’s a dumb name for a horse,” McCree said just to watch Rocks’ ears flick back toward him, left then right, and then forward again. He reached out and stroked his borrowed mount’s neck. “I’m sorry, but it is.” Shading his eyes, he tipped his head back to track the progress of the sun and found it beginning its descent toward the horizon. “I missed it,” he complained to himself. “High noon.” He closed one eye and using the thumb and forefinger of his gloved hand, he mimed shooting a gun into the air. But then the motion of reloading, as instinctive to him and as ingrained in blood and bone and muscle as breathing, took over and he shook himself free of it only when his hand brushed the canisters of quick-loaders at his hip.

Digging around in his pockets, McCree consulted his map. “Okay,” he said to himself and Tree snorted. “This is useless,” he grumbled, tracing the curving path through the forest. There didn’t seem to be any indication of how much longer he would be stuck along this road. He squinted at the path ahead and then down at the map. “There’s like fifty turns like that.”

Folding the map again, McCree tucked it away and measured the sun with his hand. “Okay, Rock,” he told the horse. Her ears flicked back, left then right, and stayed there as he continued, “We’ll go on for a bit more and see if we can’t find the end of this god-forsaken forest before nightfall.” Digging around in his bag, he consulted his letter again.

_ My Son- _

Unable to help himself, McCree snorted.

_ Forgive my impersonal way of address, for I have been called away as well. This world of ours is dark and full of secrets and a host of creatures that seek to- _

McCree snorted and skipped a few lines down.

_ -for this reason I send you to the Black Forest to deal with an issue of utmost importance for the villages there send reports of a dragon of such seductive beauty that their hearts and loins are as set aflame as their fields and houses. _

“For such a prude, he knows how to spin a good story,” McCree told Rock and Tree without looking up.

_ I have taken the liberty of sending your belongings ahead as well as additional bundles for your hunt. These physical burdens, as well as your horse, will be arriving at your destination by train so that you need only board this train or the one after. _

Of course this hadn’t happened. The message had been given to the most forgetful person to deliver and no other word or plans had been made for McCree upon his return from his previous hunting trip. After a long night at the tavern he had woken too late the next morning to catch the next train to the Black Forest.

In fact, it had been a week before he had been informed of his new project.

He had been informed, of course, because Father Morrison had returned and expressed his extreme displeasure (to put it lightly) to find McCree still lingering in Gibraltar. The messenger who had not done his job had not been punished, of course, despite his assertions that he had misplaced the letter and then forgotten to deliver it.

Which was how McCree was sent out on foot and horseback, for the train station in the Black Forest had been burned to the ground by the dread dragon that plagued the area.

Even as far away as he still was, McCree imagined that he could smell the smoke and ash on the air and it churned his gut. Unable to finish the rest of the letter – the fifth time that day he had read it – McCree moved to tuck it away again when Rock suddenly startled with a high squeal, hopping and prancing.

Yelping, McCree gripped the saddle with knees and hands, fumbling with one hand for his gun while the other scrambled to grab the reins and soothe his mount. Tree snorted as well, digging his hindquarters deep as if prepared to flee. The letter, halfway tucked into his waist pouch, fluttered away.

He searched for what spooked his horses and found the first sign of animal life in the coiled body of a serpent lying in the middle of the road ahead. It was certainly of great size and if venomous, could prove dangerous to the horses. The way it lay made it almost impossible to pass without danger and though he detested his mounts’ names he had no desire to see their death in the middle of an abandoned forest.

“Whoa,” he murmured to the horses, stroking Rock’s neck until she stopped prancing nervously. Reaching into his bag, he drew out a few of the roasted nuts that Ana had made for him before leaving. Murmuring a prayer of forgiveness under his breath (more directed toward Ana) he threw one at the snake.

It didn’t move.

Spying a long branch at the base of a nearby tree, McCree carefully dismounted, tugging Rock’s reins over her head and letting them drag so that she wouldn’t wander off. He picked up the stick and used the very tip of it to nudge the snake.

It didn’t move but seemed to hang limply from the branch when he moved to scoop it up.

“Huh,” McCree said, letting the piece of the snake he had lifted fall to the ground. It still didn’t move.

Rock and Tree hadn’t reacted to anything else he had encountered thus far. They had passed trees hanging with bodies ( _ bandits _ , a crude sign shoved into the ground had declared) and had only twitched their ears at the buzzing of the flies; they had walked calmly past dogs held back by their suspicious owners with little more than a derisive snort. Both had walked through rushing waters and had only tossed their heads a little at the sound of a lonely wolf’s howl late one night as they camped beneath the sickle moon. He had seen them shuffle aside in the face of other snakes as they passed through empty fields with no indication – other than to move around it – that they had seen it.

So why were they reacting now?

McCree looked around and found the forest just as empty as it had been earlier. The wind whistled through the barren trees, bringing no other sound of life than what his borrowed horses made.

The snake remained as still as death in the middle of the road. Shaking his head, McCree carefully put the stick down and walked off in search of the letter. He found it a few trees off the path, caught in a cradle of gnarled roots.

When he returned to the road, he found a man mounted on a big black horse – like the enormous war mounts that knights rode – and dressed in fine clothes like a noble. McCree stopped at the edge of the road, surprised.

“ _ You are bold to leave your mounts unattended in the middle of the road _ ,” the noble said. There was an accent to his German that McCree didn’t recognize.

McCree sketched an awkward bow. “My apologies, lord,” he said in English. “I’m poor enough a traveler to not speak that language.”

The man’s lips twitched. “I said that you are bold to leave your mounts unattended in the middle of the road,” the man repeated in English. His eyes and the color of his skin reminded McCree of Asia though from where he originated he couldn’t be sure.

More interesting was how he became nobility in a land like this.

His interest in the noble had little to do with the little smolder of heat he felt low in his gut. The noble had long black hair that he held in a knot at the top of his head, tied with a gold silk ribbon. He wore a dark leather riding coat of good quality that looked well used. Likewise the rest of his clothes were of high quality but practical for riding, unlike those of most nobles that McCree had met in his travels.

“I beg your pardon for my forwardness, lord,” McCree said to the noble, bowing awkwardly again. He didn’t like the mean look of the riding crop held in the noble’s hand and fell into the persona that nobles like him preferred. “But may I have a name with which to address you?”

“You are not the fool you play, hunter,” the noble replied, sounding amused. “Still I shall oblige your game: you may call me Hanzo and I am lord over these lands.”

McCree straightened and looked up at the lord, hiding his incredulous expression behind his best mask. He was fortunate that Hanzo seemed amused by his sack for the noble said nothing more. “Lord Hanzo,” McCree repeated with another bow. “Begging my forwardness again, my lord, but why are you riding alone in the forest?”

“How forward of you,” Hanzo agreed, smiling with his eyes as his face remained impassive. “I have little to fear for I have been here for many years. Newcomers however, need be more cautious.”

For a moment McCree weighed that. It almost seemed like a warning.

Or a threat.

“I am passing through,” McCree said in response to the unspoken question. “I am on the way to the Black Forest.”

Hanzo nodded. “I hear tales of a dragon,” he said. “Is that what you hunt?”

Digging through his pouches, McCree carefully approached the noble and offered his official missives. The lord read through them and he tried not to be annoyed when it seemed that his eyes lingered for too long on the thick parchment and numerous seals.

“Forgive me,” the lord said at last, returning the missives to McCree. “I had not seen such paperwork before.”

McCree considered that as he tucked away the parchment. Despite his claim that he had been in the area for many years, he spoke more like a commoner than a lord: nobility would not have apologized to a mere hunter, who was lower in some ways than mere peasants. Peasants, at least had permanent homes. He still held himself like one though, his chin tipped back as he looked down his nose at McCree.

“And that?” Hanzo asked, his eyes dipping toward the unnatural glow of McCree’s arm.

For a long moment McCree debated answering him. Not many were very accepting of the idea of the supernatural or dark magic – not with the growth of Christianity and the decrease in “such pagan practices”. For rural villages there was still usually a hedgewitch, shaman, alchemist, or other minor healer so the concept of such spells were commonplace – typically anything else was met with extreme suspicion and more than once McCree had been the subject of a witch hunt.

And for many reasons, McCree wanted to be sure that this noble was on his side.

“Hmm,” the noble said, freeing the hunter from his intense gaze. “The forest will be getting dark soon. I suggest that you move through it with speed, hunter,” he said. “You may meet things in the dark that may do you harm.” Nodding, he nudged his mount forward – gently, with heels and knees and not the riding crop in his hands.

A warning about the snake in the road was rising in his throat when he realized that it was gone.

Rock shook her head and then dropped it to smell at the ground in front of here as if searching for grass to graze. Tree’s head was lifted, his ears pricked forward as he watched the noble and his horse leave.

“Something’s weird about this,” McCree told Rock quietly, running his hands over her shoulders. “But he’s right and we gotta get moving.” Gathering her reins, he swung himself into the saddle, checked the ties for Tree’s halter, and clicked his tongue. “Let’s go.”


	2. The Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree follows Hanzo's direction and finds himself in a very strange village.

There was a village ahead that was not on the map – and McCree consulted it when he came across it. A young man sat near the outskirts, tucked against the bales of hay for a nearby stable. Seeing him, he jumped to his feet, tucked his boot knife and whittling away, and scrambled over to McCree.

“ _ Hunter! _ ” he said in German. “ _ Lord Hanzo said that you would approach! _ ”

McCree frowned down at the young man. “Sorry,” he said in English. “I don’t speak German.”

The young man cocked his head to the side. “ _ He requests your visit if possible at his estates. _ ”

A visit? McCree kept his face impassive. “Sorry,” he repeated. “I don’t speak German.”

“I can take your mounts,” the young man said, this time in English. “Our lord requests that you visit him tonight.”

McCree scratched at his chin. The unnatural glow of his prosthetic arm had faded when Rock and Tree had walked out of the forest and the last part of their hooves and tails had passed from their long shadows. Slowly he dismounted and untied Tree’s tether. “I’d like to find the inn first,” he said as politely as he could. “And a place to keep my mounts. Then I shall call upon Lord Hanzo for dinner as he wishes.”

“Would you like me to take your mounts?”

He shook his head regretfully, carefully watching the young man’s face. There was an odd haze across his eyes that McCree didn’t like. 

“Please follow me,” the young man said. Turning on his heel, he walked stiffly down the center of town and paused as if waiting for McCree to catch up. He didn’t turn around again. As soon as McCree began leading his horses down the road, he continued on as if he had been frozen in place for just a moment.

The village was like most villages that McCree had visited previously with a few notable exceptions. He found the headman’s house with ease and noticed with a frown that it was next to a large building. There were straight spires at the eaves and an expensive plate glass window with wrought-iron decoration.

But where there were usually crosses on the spires, it was blank.

“Is that your church?” McCree asked the boy when they paused to let a washerwoman pass. “It’s lovely.”

“We do well enough by it,” the young man answered.

The washerwoman turned and offered him an empty smile. “It is a nice option to have a place to worship whatever gods we choose.” She continued on her way.

“The trees are so odd here,” McCree said after a long pause. “What kind are they that they grow no leaves in the summer?”

“Cursed,” the young man replied as they turned toward what was clearly the inn. A small stable was attached. “Would you like assistance in taking care of your mounts?” Baffled and nervous, McCree shook his head.  “Very well,” the young man said. “I will wait for you to settle yourself. When you are ready, I will take you to our lord’s estate so that you may join him for supper.”

Turning on his heel, the young man walked away, found a spot on a bale of hay nearby, and returned to whittling.

McCree turned back to his horses who had remained calm through it all, and eyed his prosthetic arm which remained as dark and grey as the cold iron it was forged from. Regardless of his danger, passing through a cursed forest in the dark was not a good idea so there was nothing for it. He found two stalls lined with fresh hay and buckets of oats and fresh water in them. The stalls were spacious enough that he could store his tack and burdens with the horses and he did so with relief, knowing that they were much safer.

He checked the hay, feed, and water for poisons or harmful magic and found none but still slid the amulets that Angela had made for his use around the horses’ necks before leaving them to speak to the innkeeper. “Our lord said that you would be staying here,” the innkeeper greeted him in English that sounded choppy as if he were mimicking someone. “Thus I have prepared a room for you. He also offers a stay at his estate should you choose it.”

“I’d hate to impose on him,” McCree said. “And I’m sure as the lord of the land he is busy with other things. A hunter like myself, lower than the poorest peasant is not something with which he needs to associate with himself.”

“Perhaps he would welcome the company,” the innkeeper said cryptically.

McCree shook his head. “I’d hate to impose on him,” he repeated and the innkeeper nodded. He led McCree to the nicest room there which featured a bed to himself and furs for warmth. After a few more pleasantries which McCree missed entirely, the innkeeper left.

The room he was given was nice, decorated with furniture that only had a few scuffs in it and was generally clean. There was some dust on the dresser and desk but otherwise the linens were neat and starched and smelled of the lavender sachets tucked between their folds to give it a fresh scent.

It had a large bed as well and though the mattress felt as if it were stuffed with straw it was padded with heavy furs and comforters to ward off the heavy chill that always seemed present at night in this part of the wilds. He found a brazier as well and when he checked it he found it stocked with wood and kindling, the ashes cleared out.

There was a desk and a small chest at the foot of his bed and opening them he found them both empty. Loathe to completely unpack (there was no point if he were moving on after that night) he instead propped his saddlebags and gear on the top of the chest and desk.

He found an adjoining bathroom with a large tub and what appeared to be working plumbing – unusual in such a small town. Inspecting the pipes, he smiled when he found a series of etched marks in the metal. There was a water witch in town.

Pleased, he turned the spigot and watched as water rushed out to fill the tub. Unlike the noisy pumps and plumbing of the city, this one was nearly silent and he grinned. Even if it was cold he looked forward to a nice bath – he even found soap wrapped in waxed paper on the nearby shelf that smelled like fresh herbs.

He stripped as the water filled the tub and set out a new change of clothes, piling his travel ones on the side. Perhaps he may stay an extra day and see if he could find a washerwoman in town to clean his clothes. There was mending to do as well and even though showing up to slay a dragon in your best wasn’t the best idea, he also didn’t really want to appear to those that hired him like the vagabond he really was.

With a pleased sigh he slipped into the water and soaked for a bit and could literally feel the dirt and grime from his travels lift off his skin. He turned the faucet off and soaked, letting the lightly-steaming water – a pleasant surprise – relax his tense and sore muscles.

He soaked until his fingers wrinkled and then began scrubbing down. Draining the tub, he filled it again and repeated the process, scrubbing his whole body from head to toe. Though he was used to not living in luxury (most of his time was spent hunting or on the road, of course) he liked the feeling of clean hair and skin.

By the time he was ready to leave the tub, he found a stack of folded towels and dried off, tugging on clean clothes. Digging out his journals, he updated his information (making special notes about the strange magic of the dead forest, the eerie silence, and the lack of animals save for the black snake that seemed to have appeared and disappeared at whim), plotted a note for where he expected he was, and calculated his travel time to the Black Forest and the dragon he was contracted to slay.

Soon the sun began to set and he sat back with a sigh. A part of him was relieved to find that there weren’t any electric lights in this inn – that would have been simply too strange for him – but there was a small fist-sized orb of glass that cast an uneven glow set in the wall. It was about as bright as a candle and behaved similarly but allowed him to find the other candlesticks and oil lanterns tucked into a small supply closet. They weren’t the best quality but they were more than serviceable. He was about to light one and continue his writing when his stomach rumbled to remind him that he hadn’t yet eaten.

Downstairs he found the tavern in full swing. The hunters must have done well for there was a large deer roasting on the spit, making McCree wonder where it had come from. Still, he went up to the barkeep who nodded his greeting.

“Ale, please,” McCree said in English with a charming grin, offering his tankard. “And what have you for supper?” Realizing his error, he was about to correct his choice of language but to his surprise, the barkeep grunted and poured him a drink.

“We have the deer,” the barkeep said with a nod toward the spit. He had a strong German accent but his English was understandable and McCree wondered how everyone he spoke to in this small, rural village was able to speak English. “My wife made cakes. We have stew.”

McCree nodded thoughtfully. “I shall not offend your wife by turning down a cake,” he said and the corners of the barkeep’s lips twitched. “And if it’s ready, I’d like the deer.”

“The lord brought word that you were coming,” the barkeep said as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “So he had us prepare the deer.” He yelled an order in German to one of the serving maids near the spit and she nodded, cutting up slices of meat and loading it on a trencher for him. It was topped with a thick gravy and roasted potatoes. Turning to McCree, he named a price for all of this that made the hunter’s brows rise in surprise.

“That’s…very low,” he hedged. It was good for his wallet but in most towns like this he’d be charged the same amount for the ale alone.

The barkeep shrugged and collected his gold, inspecting the coins critically and weighing them in his hands before tucking them away into a pocket of his stained apron. “The lord brought the deer,” he said simply as the serving maid brought the large trencher over.

Thanking him, McCree went to take the trencher from the serving maid but she shook her head with a sly smile. So he led her to an empty table in the back corner of the room and leaned back to let her set it in front of him. “This lord,” he said as she brushed her hands off on her apron. “Surely he must be quite generous to give such things away.”

The woman smiled in a strangely empty kind of way. Perhaps out of exhaustion from working the spit at the large hearth. “He does well by us,” she demurred. “He has the taste for hunting but living alone as he does he wouldn’t eat all of a deer. He enjoys his garden but it does more than feed him so he gives some to us so that we are well fed and healthy.”

McCree smiled charmingly at her and she ducked her head. It was hard to tell if she blushed with her skin already red from standing beside the great fire, but McCree thought she did. Cleaned up, he knew that women liked to gravitate toward him, seduced by the idea of a hunter.

A charming rogue that didn’t have a noble or a knight’s pride that lived a life of danger.

He’d lost count how many times women – married and not – had tried to seduce their way into his bed. He’d lost count how many times their jealous lovers or angry fathers came after him after he rejected their advances. As a young boy learning the trade, he had been dismayed but his mentors had only laughed it off as a “risk of the job”.

In all honesty, he just wished that it was a risk he didn’t have to take. Given the choice between a dragon and a simpering woman (or, on very rare occasions, a lad) trying to seduce him for the honor of bedding a “hero” like a hunter he would prefer the dragon – or even dragon _ s _ – to the predatory smiles of other humans.

He sighed wistfully and with another gentle smile, the serving maid returned to her spot by the hearth, shooing away a dog that had come sniffing at the scent of roasting meat. It was a wretched-looking mongrel with a crooked jaw, a missing leg, and one ear docked far too short. The serving maid cut a small piece of meat for it and shooed it away as it gnawed on it with a canine look of joy on its mangled face. Seeing McCree looking at it, both ears pricked up and it trotted over, sitting beside him in his spot. It didn’t beg for food, which confused McCree, but it seemed at least well-fed for it wasn’t as thin as a street dog typically was and its fur, what little that grew in uneven patches all over its body, was sleek and healthy.

Relatively speaking, of course.

“What a wretched creature you are,” McCree murmured with a laugh, offering his hand for it to sniff. It obeyed cheerfully and licked his knuckles with a greasy tongue before settling at his feet as easily as if he had trained it to do so. He returned to his meal and the dog remained at his feet. “You are well-trained for a street cur.”

Another serving maid heard them as she came by to check on his tankard and trencher. “That’s the lord’s hound. One of them,” she said, as with everyone in this strange town, in English. At her gesture, he handed her his tankard to refill. She accepted the coin he gave her in payment.

“Does the lord keep many hounds like this?” McCree joked. “I heard he hunts – surely this is not the state of all of his animals!”

The serving maid shook her head with a frown. “Nay,” she said with a conviction that surprised McCree. “He rescues them; trains them. He done the same with everyone that wanted their beasts trained. Goose, dog, horse, or ox, the lord trains them all.”

When McCree had no answer she nodded and bustled off to another customer.

“Suspicious,” he told the dog who gave him a reproachful look. It got up and walked away, as miffed as any kind of street cat. Watching it go, McCree took another deep drink of his tankard and resumed his meal.

The sun was finally sinking beneath the horizon when he paid for his cakes. They were small things stuffed with almonds and jam and the barkeep’s wife made him a small sack to carry them in so he could walk around town and enjoy the crisp evening air.

As was typical for a village like this, he noticed a handful of stray animals wandering around but unlike most places he’d been to, they seemed well taken care of. There wasn’t the mange that ran rampant through some of the animals in many towns and all of them had glossy, healthy fur.

Most had battle wounds: missing limbs, unevenly docked ears or tails from battle rather than the life of a stray, missing teeth or eyes, crooked jaws…all of them looked up at him as if measuring his worth before resuming their twilight wanderings.

The streets of town were much emptier, the small carts and shops closing down. A few of the friendlier people waved to him and he waved back but didn’t seek to bother them as they went about their day. It would just agitate them and further alienate them from him. Unlike him, they feared the night and the monsters it brought.

Interestingly enough, each house seemed to be lit by a combination of the typical oil lanterns and wax candles and the much less-common (at least in other places he’d been) glass witchlights. McCree nibbled on his thumb thoughtfully. The plumbing in his room had witch runes blessed by a water witch and he knew that the light-in-glass or –crystal spells tended to be done by fire or lightning witches, the latter of which were extremely rare. Yet whichever of them existed (perhaps even both) they kept their witchlights common enough that everyone could have one.

It was also unlikely that there would be so many witches in close proximity. Perhaps the water witch from the inn had only been passing through or the parts had been made outside of the town but such easy acceptance of such witchlights? He shook his head.

Personally he thought it was good that witches were so accepted here. With the rapid (and violent) growth of Christianity, many witches were considered evil and burned or drowned or hung…in some ways McCree was inordinately pleased that innocent people weren’t being so brutally murdered, at least without a fair trial.

And yet somehow he was still uneasy…but perhaps that was just the mortal side of him that still was afraid of the dark and the monsters it brought. Shaking his head free of such thoughts, McCree focused on enjoying a quiet evening.

As he walked, munching on the sweet cakes stuffed with jam and candied almonds, he watched the animals. None of them begged for food from him but a few wandered close as if investigating him and then resumed their animal patrols. He saw a little girl playing with a bow-legged dog and a cat with a missing eye and ear as if they were family pets – perhaps they were – but McCree suspected that that was not the case. The girl’s parents came out and he paused, waiting to see them shoo away the animals, but instead he watched them pet both of the creatures, offer them a small piece of jerky, and take their daughter inside.

As he made another turn through town, McCree realized that he had company on his walk in the form of the wretched-looking dog he had met in the tavern. “Hi, boy,” he said and surreptitiously peeked under its tail to check. “Girl,” he amended.

The dog waved her tail cheerfully and trotted beside him as he walked down the darkening streets. She accepted the bits of cake he gave her almost daintily and rubbed against his legs in thanks much like a cat. Despite his concern she seemed to have no issue keeping up with him despite his much longer stride and her missing leg and he was surprised at how comfortable he was in this strange dog’s presence.

She accompanied him back to the tavern and stopped in the street in front of the building. With a deep booming bark she charged in through the door. Startled McCree chased after her and skidded to a stop.

The noble he had seen in the forest, the lord of the little town, was there, dressed as resplendently as ever, bending at the waist to scratch the dog behind her tattered ears. He stood back up and regarded McCree as he walked in.

Just to test his luck, McCree slipped his thumbs into his belt, resting one of his hands on the holster of Peacekeeper. “Fancy seeing you here.”


	3. Testing His Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Hunter McCree always does, he tests his luck against the strange lord Hanzo. 
> 
> In return, he gets something he didn't expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for this chapter by the lovely Akh-irr can be found [here](http://akh-irr.tumblr.com/post/177443496420/title-in-the-cursed-forest-of-bern-rating-e).
> 
> This was also the art that inspired the piece. After speaking with Akh-irr, the story grew and grew and grew.......

The lord’s lips twitched into a slight smile. “Indeed,” he said. The noble’s gaze was like a physical touch now and McCree found it hard to not react to it. “Hello again, hunter,” the noble said.

“My lord,” McCree replied as he bowed.

He smiled as if he had heard an amusing joke. It didn’t hold the distant, brittle edge that most noble smiles had, but it certainly seemed so awkward and out of place on his stoic face. “Please, have a seat with me. And a drink.” He raised an arm and the barkeep waddled over. “An ale for my friend,” the lord said, tipping his head to speak to the bent man though his eyes remained trained on McCree’s. “And more of your wife’s hand pies.”

“I have a few left,” McCree was quick to assure both the noble and the barkeep who glanced at him. He pulled the tankard off his belt and offered it to the barkeep. “But thank you for your offer, my lord.”

The noble smirked and nodded; the barkeep waddled away, calling in German for one of his barmaids to fetch another plate of meat. They sat in silence for a while, McCree being unsure of just how to end it without being rude. The lord seemed like a newly ennobled man but it wouldn’t be the first time that McCree had been wrong about something like that.

A few minutes later, the barkeep came back with a full tankard of ale for McCree and a large platter of meat from the spit and some of the potatoes that McCree had seen the barmaids tossing on the coals to roast.

“Eat,” the lord said with what could almost be called a playful smirk. Truthfully it reminded McCree of the sort of smile a cat would give a mouse it was torturing under the guise of play. “I said that I would have you for dinner, did I not?”

McCree cleared his throat and thanked the barmaid that brought over another trencher, a hearty loaf of oat bread, and a large earthenware pot with stew. “My lord is very generous,” he said carefully. “But I am afraid that I had already eaten.”

He braced himself for noble anger or disappointment that…didn’t come. The lord nodded. “It seems that I am too late, then,” he said wistfully and he lowered his lashes at McCree. “But if you feel an appetite I ask that you fill it. You would do me great honor to rest here and regain your strength for your journey ahead.”

By now McCree knew better than to be caught in such a trap so he only thanked the lord and used his belt knife to spear a slice of venison. The stew was hearty, full of potatoes and carrots and other large chunks of vegetables that complimented the cut of venison McCree had in his trencher.

“I apologize for the delay,” the lord said, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in that hand as he watched McCree eat. “But such things take time to cook and I had sought to leave word with you to await an hour that we might sup together but I could not find such a messenger.” His lips twisted into a kind of smirk that sent heat stirring in McCree’s lower belly. He told himself that it was just the warmth of the stew and good food.

How was he still hungry? He had just eaten – very well, even – and even such a walk he had taken shouldn’t have made him so hungry again…

“But the people here make such delicious food,” the lord continued almost wistfully. “It honors them as well that you eat with such gusto.”

The lord watched him eat and drink with a gaze that McCree could only describe as hungry, no matter how much he tried to deny it. “My lord,” he said, putting his spoon down between bites. “Pardon my forwardness, but it seems that you have desire to do all manner of things for me. I cannot afford another meal as hearty as this-”

“This I have paid for,” the noble said dismissively, waving a hand as if shooing off a pesky insect.

McCree nodded. “Again, pardon my forwardness, but I have had many lords and ladies seek me out for their own amusement. Perhaps as a kind of kept pet or to add to their collection of novelties.” He hesitated, searching for words that wouldn’t insult the noble in front of him.

“Ah,” the lord said. “You wish to know my intentions toward you.”

The hunter made a face. It hit too close to home, the phrasing too accurately in the direction his mind and libido wanted to travel.

“Perhaps not the most appropriate phrase,” the lord agreed. “But it does well enough.” With the hand that wasn’t supporting his chin, he tapped absently at the scuffed table. “I have lived here a long time,” he said, clearly choosing his words with great care. “We are isolated in a forest thought to be haunted – or cursed. It is rare that we would see someone…interesting wander through.”

“I’m on my way to the Black Forest,” McCree told him though the lord hadn’t asked. But it certainly had felt like it – he had certainly _wanted_ to answer, to tell this man everything about his journey. “Had word of a dragon there.”

The lord blinked slowly, not unlike the lazy gaze of a cat. “A dragon? Certainly not so common a thing.” McCree was certain that he had told the lord this before - yes, in the forest. He had handed the lord his missives. Why was he reacting now as if he had heard this for the first time?

McCree nodded, taking a long drink of his tankard. “Not at all,” he agreed despite his thoughts. “Which is why my team has so few people with the skill to take them down. They had to send me special.”

“Where are you hailing from that you traveled by horseback through a cursed wood?” the lord asked, sounding honestly curious.

He opened his mouth to answer and paused. “Forgive me, my lord,” he said either bravely or foolishly. He blamed it on the drink – the ale was certainly a good and hearty brew – but he knew that he could also blame it on his libido, which lit fires of desire low in his gut, or the intense stare – one that seemed honestly curious – of the noble sitting across from him. “But it doesn’t seem much fair to be…so unevenly matched if you catch my meaning. I do not even know your name.”

The lord smiled, smug as a cat. “I told you before, did I not?” he asked and just as suddenly as he had forgotten, McCree remembered. “You may call me Hanzo.”

“Hanzo,” McCree said, testing the name on his lips and tongue. He decided he liked the heady feeling that was not unlike the taste of spiced cider in the winter. “Lord Hanzo.” He coughed, trying to keep his libido in check, adjusting himself as subtly as he could beneath the table. “I hail from the Americas, across the Atlantic,” he told the lord. “My da fell in love with a native woman there but stole me away to England.” Hanzo nodded. “Da died when I was just a kid – ah, a child, I should say. They say it was a werewolf. The team that was sent a’huntin’ it got it before it could get to me.”

The lord nodded. “Certainly a traumatic experience.”

Unable to help himself, McCree nodded. “Were that,” he agreed and drained his tankard. A barmaid immediately swept over and refilled it for him. “The hunters took me in. I learned from the best – tossed around from group to group ‘cause hunts like these ain’t no place for a child.”

“A ‘kid’,” Hanzo said with a teasing smirk and McCree gritted his teeth against an embarrassing whimper. The man looked good enough to devour and for a fraction of a second he could see an image of their arms and hands entwined together, his dark skin so nicely complementing Hanzo’s pale complexion, bringing out the slightest golden hue that was washed away in such flickering light.

He had another vision, like a strike of lightning, of Hanzo’s long black hair spread like a twilight corona around his head which was tipped back in ecstasy…

McCree thanked the barmaid when she returned with his filled tankard and took another long drink to get a hold of himself. “Street slang,” he said ruefully. “My apologies, my lord.”

“You are welcome to call me Hanzo,” the lord murmured, tilting his head to the side. It sent a lock of his long bangs sliding across his face as if caressing his cheek. “If you are so inclined.”

Mouth dry, McCree nodded. To keep himself from saying something stupid, he cut a large chunk of venison and scooping up a hearty amount of vegetables and gravy, shoved it in his mouth. It was far more than was mannerly but Hanzo didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his gaze didn’t even waver or change as if he were used to such behavior.

“What brings you through a cursed forest on horseback?” Hanzo asked as he chewed and McCree remembered that he had asked that earlier before McCree had decided to be quite so contrary.

Remembering at the last minute not to wipe his mouth on his wrist like a savage, McCree fished around in his pockets for a handkerchief and wiped the sauce away from his lips. He didn’t miss the way Hanzo’s eyes lingered there, watching him clean his mouth and beard. McCree swallowed.

“They were going to send me by train,” he admitted. “But the message went astray – my gear and mount went on ahead to the Black Forest but I did not board the train. By the time we realized the error, the dragon had destroyed the end station. I went by train as far as I was able to but…”

Hanzo nodded in agreement. “Such poor luck for your hunt,” he murmured and if McCree didn’t know better he seemed almost…coquettish. “But good luck that I was able to meet such a hunter as yourself.”

Cheeks aflame with pleased embarrassment, McCree looked down at his trencher. When he looked up again, Hanzo was leaning closer across the table, a very intent look on his face.

Hanzo leaned closer across the table. “I like men,” he said, blunt and to the point in a way that made McCree sputter. “And I’ve learned to identify those that do as well. Tell me Hunter...have you any desire to spend time upon my lap tonight?”

Coughing, McCree put his tankard down and slapped his fist against his sternum. “My,” he croaked. “You’re...um…”

“They don’t much care here,” Hanzo said flippantly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. “I made sure of that.”

McCree swallowed and coughed again, hoping that it hid the blush that rose to his cheeks. “For a stranger you-”

“I have some draw in the community, yes,” Hanzo said drily. “But we are both men that know what we want and do not much feel shame for our desires. Tell me: do you wish to find pleasure with me tonight?”

Casting nervous glances around, McCree coughed again into his fist. “I must say,” he said slowly. “You’re bold. I like that, really I do. And you’re more than easy on the eyes. I’m afraid that I’m here on business though.”

“Business and pleasure need not be exclusive.”

McCree took a long drink of his ale and eyed Hanzo. “If I say yes?” he asked as his body reminded him how long it had been since he had found pleasure with another.

The other man smiled. “Then I shall give you business or pleasure as you desire. But first I would like to hear you say it; say out loud that you wish to be with me.”

Something raised red flags in his head but McCree had always been weak for a pretty smile. “Yeah,” he said around a lump in his throat. When Hanzo met his eyes, he swallowed. “I think I’d like that,” he said. “It gets lonely on the road.”

“Come here,” Hanzo said, his eyes half-lidded. He pushed his chair back, uncrossed his legs, and patted his thighs as if to smooth the creases.

Face still tugged into a sulky frown, McCree obeyed, standing and shuffling closer so that he loomed over Hanzo. Without breaking eye contact, he fumbled for his tankard and lifted it to his lips, careful not to slosh any over Hanzo’s fine clothes. “Well?” he said when Hanzo didn’t move. “I’m here.”

Hanzo snorted. He looped his long fingers into McCree’s belt and gave a sharp tug, making him yelp as he was dragged closer, bent awkwardly to keep his balance. “Why stand when there’s a perfectly good seat here?”

Swallowing, McCree stared down at Hanzo and then around them at the tavern. No one was looking at them for the moment, but that didn’t mean that it would stay that way for long. And McCree didn’t survive against monsters as long as he did to be killed at the stake for the affections of an attractive man toying with his belt. (Or was it jail time here? Hanging? He wasn’t quite sure about this quiet little town but the stake was a rather safe bet.)

As he opened his mouth to say so, Hanzo’s hands gripped his hips and spun him around, yanking him back so that he sat straddled across Hanzo’s thighs. He yelped, his arms shooting out instinctively to catch himself. In the end he spilled his tankard, the whole thing falling to the table and then the floor with a loud clatter and splash.

“Right where I’d like you,” Hanzo murmured, hooking his chin over McCree’s shoulder as he pressed his hands possessively against him, one to his chest and one to his thigh.

Looking frantically around as he scrambled to stand again, McCree realized....no one was looking at them.

The tavern wasn’t too crowded, most rightfully afraid to travel too late at night in such a quiet area of town, but there were enough witnesses there to cause him a lot of trouble and a quick trip to the stake. Behind the bar, the barkeep poured ale into a tankard and served it to a customer. More walked in through the doors, swept the room for a seat, and sat. A busty serving girl in a pale blue skirt stained with ash and grease and beer came by, took care of his tankard, and wiped the beer away before bustling off.

Hanzo’s hands shifted, the one on his thigh inching inward while the other traced its way up his chest. “See?” he asked as if reading McCree’s mind. McCree gasped when Hanzo’s hands groped at him, grinding an erection of his own into the hunter’s ass where it was pressed into the cradle of his hips. “No one cares; no one is batting an eye. I have you all to myself.”

Looking down at Hanzo’s gloved hand, McCree’s mouth went dry for an entirely different reason. His prosthetic arm, made of cold iron and magicked to react to inhuman presences, glowed as if lit from within by the coals of a fire.

His terror nearly outweighed his arousal as Hanzo squeezed the prize in his palm and traced the burning path his dick pressed into his trousers. With his legs spread so obscenely the material of his trousers were stretched tight, highlighting his erection.

Chuckling, Hanzo spread his legs - and McCree’s with them - as if to show him off. Again, no one looked, no one commented, no one seemed to notice or care. McCree scrambled for his belt but found both hands caught and held by Hanzo’s.

“Hush,” Hanzo said into his ear, transferring the grip of both wrists to one hand and holding them in a grip like iron bands. With his other, he traced the inseam of McCree’s trousers back to his prize which he pinched and stroked and ground the heel of his palm against.

Throwing his head back, McCree tried to headbutt Hanzo but the other man - or _whatever_ he was - but he missed.

He whined when Hanzo squeezed him almost painfully. Then the pain was gone and Hanzo was furiously stroking him through his trousers, rutting his own hardness into McCree’s ass as he lipped at the skin that McCree’s high collar didn’t hide.

“Hush,” Hanzo said again.

McCree scrambled to grab something - anything - and realized with a start that his hands were free and all he could do was grip Hanzo’s thighs, his head, and hang on. Hanzo’s free hand traced up his chest, dipping cool fingers into the buttons of his shirt teasingly before they cupped his chin.

“Stop,” McCree said even though his body betrayed him, blood rushing further south as he bucked forward into Hanzo’s punishing grip and backward into the length he could feel pressing against him. Never before had he wanted this so badly, to worship someone on his knees while they found their completion over his tongue and face.

Hell, he’d settle for a quick fuck, bent over the table, or the barrels of ale, or over the fountain in the center of town where everyone could see him, the sloppy gape of his ass as it dripped cum. Hanzo’s, specifically - no one else’s, not now or ever for Hanzo was a jealous master who took good care of his toys.

McCree gasped, bucking as he felt Hanzo’s hand tip his head to the side so he could mouth at the furiously beating pulse point in his neck. “Thrall,” he gasped out.

The creature hummed. “Or something similar,” he agreed, his syllables long and drawn out like the sibilant hiss of a snake. “And I’d like you to be mine, Jesse McCree.”

Swallowing hard, McCree fought against the wave of _want_ that threatened to drown him. He scrambled for purchase as he tried to stand, tried to grab Hanzo’s hands, tried to move his head away from the teasing tongue that traced the tendons in his neck.

Through it all Hanzo’s hand didn’t stop, toying with the sensitive head of McCree’s cock and pressing firm pressure down the length of it with the heel of his hand. Hanzo hissed again, a rough sound that whistled as it passed through fangs that McCree could just barely feel against his neck.

Hanzo licked his neck just as he squeezed the head of McCree’s cock. With a shout McCree came like a horny teenager in his pants, soaking his pant leg and staining his trousers as Hanzo stroked him through it, pressing searing kisses to his flushed skin.

After what felt like hours, Hanzo’s hand slowed and stilled, uncaring of the mess it had caused and spread as his fingers traced the edge of the wet stain, pushing it further into McCree’s leg and trousers. He whimpered, his lungs heaving like bellows.

Behind him, Hanzo was making little growls but his furious motions had stopped and now his erection dug hard into the base of McCree’s back as if teasing him. Faster than he thought possible, McCree was lifted and shoved back into his seat and Hanzo stood before him, his own erection straining the front of his neat trousers and his jacket tossed over his arm.

“I will have you as mine, Hunter,” the vampire told him loftily. A hungry flush colored his face and McCree felt his mouth go dry again, wanting to chase the rosy tint down his throat and see how far it went.

An oily feeling soaked his gut, ruining the cloud-like feeling of post-orgasmic euphoria. Was this a part of the thrall too? Or was this just his own desires?

Perhaps it was a mixture of both, which was perhaps the most dangerous option of all. He had long since come to terms with his nature as a bardash and Hanzo fit every salacious dream and desire that he could ever want and had ever had.

“I find myself desiring company,” Hanzo continued, his smooth voice so at odds with the erection pleading for escape just in front of McCree. “And you are just what I desire. I will have you as mine - permanently. Whether your choice or not to remain with me, then that is for you to decide. Or if you choose to Hunt me as you were commissioned, then you know where to call upon me.”

The vampire nodded regally and then was gone, reappearing in the open door of the tavern. It seemed that whatever spell he had held upon the tavern had broken, for the barkeep called a polite goodbye, waving his rag. The same serving girl from before came by and offered him a cloth. “Went to get a cleaner one,” she said with a friendly smile. “Watch out for Mr. Shimada, stranger - he has a wicked tongue. I’d lost count of how many he’d gotten to laugh so hard they spilled their ale.”

Swallowing hard, McCree thanked her and scrubbed ineffectively at his pants. Giving up after a few minutes he stood, collecting his coat. Paying the barkeep, he left.

He had a lot of thinking to do.


	4. Athena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunter McCree could always count on Athena.

McCree returned to his large room in the inn and went straight to the chest in the corner that held his hunting supplies. Whispering his password into the lock, he inserted the key and turned it. Ana’s magic wasn’t as good as her alchemy but her locking wards, small as they may be, were among the best he’d encountered. 

(So were her cakes but that was an entirely different matter. If he’d had his way, he’d be as large as a house from eating her cakes all day.)

Shaking his head, he gathered his gear and thoughts. 

First: he knew that Hanzo was a vampire. Somehow that wasn’t as simple as it seemed to be, though. Under normal circumstances he would assume that to kill him, he would need to go the usual route: a stake to the heart, a sacred bullet, a wild rose on whatever coffin he slept in. The man - or, perhaps not-man - showed every sign of a vampire and yet…

Well, there were certainly other kinds of vampires than the European “breed”. And Hanzo’s age - which McCree wasn’t sure of - could also cause yet another issue. Older vampires were harder to kill, after all - they’d had a long time to hone their survival skills against hunters like him. 

But he had the feeling that Hanzo wasn’t quite like other European vampires. For one he clearly wasn’t European but that hasn’t stopped vampires from making pretty young toys of people not like themselves - in many ways that was the appeal to them, hoarding toys that they couldn’t find just  _ anywhere _ . He wouldn’t put it past a vampire to find a pretty new toy somewhere and bring it back to...wherever this village was. 

That being said, it was also possible that as a vampire (or a human) Hanzo had traveled from...wherever he was from and had settled here. 

McCree loaded his gun and packed away extra spelled rounds. Unfortunately he hadn’t packed for a vampire hunt so he had far fewer than he would have liked. He  _ did _ have a few vials of holy water which he packed, and a crossbow with spelled bolts - again, far less than he would have liked but he would have to make do. As he kitted up, he remembered the tacky mess in his trousers and made a face. 

He found a bath waiting in the tub and after touching a spelled talisman to it, learned that it was merely clean water as one would expect. Or rather, it was just water but it looked cleaner than he was used to. Digging around in his chest, he found a spelled lens and inspected the tub, kicking himself for not thinking to do so earlier. There was a sigil on the bottom, or rather a row of them, that he didn’t recognize. 

Leaning back on his heels, he considered that. Was it Hanzo or was it just another odd thing in this odd town? 

But those sigils didn’t look like anything local - it didn’t have the kind of appearance, like the bird-like tracks of Norse writing. These signs were more complex with the appearance of deliberate calligraphy - albeit in a language he didn’t recognize. 

Getting to his feet - and making a face at the sticky mess in his pants - he went to the chest of gear and pulled out a leather bound notebook stamped with a large A. He pulled out the charcoal pencil from his bags and began drawing the symbols as well as he was able to. 

On the opposite page, words appeared:  _ what is this? _

McCree shook his head and continued to draw, occasionally smearing out one of his lines. “That’s what I want  _ you _ to figure out, Athena,” he muttered to himself. 

More words appeared.  _ “Hello Athena, I need your help.” Oh, hello McCree! How may I be of service? “I need you to tell me what kind of runes these are. Do you think you can manage that, Athena?” Why certainly! I have access to an entire library’s worth of knowledge! Is an interaction like this too much to ask for? _

Snorting, McCree continued to sketch out the drawing and ended it with a flourish, double-checking his work. He scribbled at the bottom.

_ Hello Athena! I need you and your infinite knowledge! I found this in the bottom of my tub in an inn. Do you think you can translate it for me? _

A spiral appeared on the opposite page - a sign that Athena was “thinking”. Then she said,  _ At first glance they appear to be Asian in origin. _

McCree scowled. “Helpful,” he muttered. He lifted the lens to his face as he waited and found more symbols on the doorways, windows, and ceiling.  _ There are more symbols here _ , he wrote to Athena. 

_ Copy them down, they may help me narrow the origins down, _ was her immediate response. 

Opening his book to a new page, he obeyed and made notes of where he found the symbols. 

_ You wrote them the wrong way _ , Athena commented a moment later.  _ You read them up-down, not left-right. _

McCree tapped the edge of his charcoal pencil against the pages.  _ Do I need to leave? _

_ I recognize the one on the doors and ceiling _ , Athena wrote a moment later.  _ They’re the same symbol even if you wrote them in two different ways: they’re wards against fire. _ McCree nodded. In an inn it made sense even if it was odd to find such things.  _ I don’t recognize the one in the tub or the one in the window though. _

Thinking, McCree tapped the edge of the pencil against his chin.  _ Where is their origin? _

Athena’s response was prompt.  _ I taught you better grammar than that _ . McCree made a face though she couldn’t see it.  _ The fire wards are Japanese in origin - I recognize them as they are common motif in what I do know of their spells. They are among what are called “ofuda”, spelled charms that are hung around the house to ward off evil. _

Surprised, McCree nearly dropped his pencil.  _ Japanese? _ He demanded, underlining the single word a bunch of times. 

_ Yes, _ Athena replied.  _ I am certain of it. The other symbols I am not sure about, but they bear a similar resemblance to the fire-wards. It is Japanese and I would bet that the other signs you saw are as well. _

McCree considered that and the cooling bath in his room. It would make a lot of sense. Hanzo looked very...well, he looked like he was from Asia and he would leave it at that. Human origins aside, it didn’t help him too much to know the kind of vampire that Hanzo was. 

Perhaps Athena would know. 

_ Do the Japanese have vampires? _

The spiral returned while Athena “thought” and McCree reviewed what he knew of Japan. 

Most hunters that knew of them tended to call it “Monster Island”. Their society was incredibly closed off save for a few precious traders, all from Norway. Or...well, somewhere up north. Denmark? Sweden? 

Mild bitterness aside, the Japanese were known for their own particular brand of magic and monster hunting. Many groups around the world had tried to open up a dialogue with them to promote the trade of information but each time had been rebuffed. McCree had tried as well and hadn’t been surprised when his efforts had been shot down. Still…

Hanzo was Japanese. It sent an odd kind of thrill to know someone from such a secluded society. The downside of course was that he was probably going to have to kill him. 

He looked down and found that Athena had sent another message in return.  _ There are no vampire myths endemic to Japan...but there are related ones in China and Korea. As you know there hasn’t been much contact with Japan but it is a good bet that these “vampires” may also exist in their culture as well _ .

McCree tapped his pencil against his lips again, debating what he should tell Athena. In the end he settled on,  _ I stopped in a village on the way to the Black Forest. May have met a vampire but he doesn’t seem like your standard Romani type. _

Instead of a swirl, Athena gave him three dots to show her displeasure.  _ You’re supposed to be on your way to deal with a dragon. Do you even have the gear to deal with a vampire? _

_ I have enough _ , he assured her.  _ But I met him at the local tavern. I think he has the whole town under his thrall. And he doesn’t seem like a Romani vampire. _

Athena made a particular swirl on the page that McCree recognized as the one she made when she was distressed.  _ WAIT FOR BACKUP _ .

_ No _ . McCree wrote back, underlining it a few times.  _ I got this. I don’t think he really wants to kill me. _

The spirit made her distressed swirl again.  _ Jesse,  _ _ please _ _. Be careful! _

McCree smiled. Ever since he’d been “rescued”, Athena had taken a shining to him. She found him hiding in one of her many shelves, scared of everyone and everything. Somehow he hadn’t been afraid of the spirit of the library, who knelt beside him and offered him her glowing blue hand. Whenever he had been scared, in those days, he could always be found with Athena in the library. 

She had taught him to read and write and inspired him to write more about the world around him. He had soaked up all of the information she had on all of the things that went bump in the night and asked her so many questions…

_ I promise _ , he told her.  _ Just trust me, okay? And tell me about other Asian vampires. _

There was a long pause and Athena’s pen spiraled as she gathered her data for him. In the end he chose to risk it and shucked his cloths, slipping into the bath. It was cold, but he’d had worse and scrubbed at the flaky lines that his own cum had traced down his leg. 

With a sigh, he rinsed himself and got dressed.


	5. Brigitte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On his way to speak and potentially kill Hanzo, the vampire terrorizing the village, Hunter McCree meets a strange woman who offers to take him before the vampire.

As prepared as he could be, McCreee slipped downstairs into the stables. He was suspicious when he didn’t encounter anyone on his trip – he would have thought that those under the vampire’s thrall would be there to stop him from leaving, yet…

No one in the tavern seemed to notice him, just as they hadn’t seemed to notice Han–  _ the vampire _ – earlier. Still, McCree left enough coin for his room and the trouble he was about to cause on the bar top and stole away to the stables.

The hostlers there paid him the most mind and even then it wasn’t much of anything: they stopped mid-action and inexplicably walked away, speaking to each other as if they continued to work at mending tack or cleaning stalls. He carefully inspected Rock and Tree and was relieved to find no bite marks but that didn’t mean that the vampire couldn’t have them under his thrall.

Hanzo hadn’t bitten him and yet he had almost been under Hanzo’s thrall more than once. 

As quickly as he dared McCree performed a quick warding and protection spell over the horses (who tossed their heads and sneezed at the burning sage but otherwise didn’t react) and got them ready. In his experience, villagers didn’t react very well to the death of a vampire; remaining too long under thrall became like an addictive drug. Without the thrall in their veins, the villagers sometimes…reacted poorly.

Yet another reason why vampires like this one were hunted in teams.

Making a face, McCree led both horses out of the stables and paused, finding a woman holding the reins of a large horse, seemingly waiting for him in the courtyard of the inn. “Lord Hanzo asked that I escort you to his estate,” she said. In a leather cup fixed to the saddle sat a cat of enormous size whose white fur looked like clouds. There was a symbol like a roaring lion on the horse’s breast strap which matched the patch sewn into the chest of her leather coat.

McCree eyed her nervously. Though she was dressed as a traveler, she had the look of a knight or a noble (or worse, both – it wasn’t  _ too _ uncommon these days) and the sigils matched it. The horse though…the horse  _ definitely _ wasn’t the size knights would ride or take with them – large though it was, it was still too small to support the woman and any armor she wore. It had the  _ look _ at least, its ears twisted back as it seemed to glare at the world in general; it chewed on the bit in its mouth as if it were pretending it was McCree’s remaining arm.

The woman reached down and hefted a lit lantern fixed to a pole; attached to her saddle, it would light the road ahead of them. “Are you ready?” she asked.

“Forgive me, my lady,” McCree said. “But might I ask-”

The woman snorted as she swung into the saddle. “I’m no lady,” she told him. “I’m hardly even a squire! But come along, let’s not keep Lord Hanzo waiting. He was eager to see you.” she turned her mount and seemed to realize something. “Oh! I’m sorry; I’m Brigitte. Hanzo –  _ Lord _ Hanzo, I mean – sent me down earlier to bring you over. I think he wasn’t sure you knew where he lived.”

McCree let his hand rest on his gun as he thought. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Lord Hanzo is a vampire,” the woman said, her orange brows rising. “You are a hunter.” She shrugged, her face carefully impassive. “You hunt vampires and other monsters. It won’t bother me if you don’t trust me.” Her cat meowed and she reached down to stroke its head. She nudged her mount forward. “Follow me or not, it’s not my problem.”

He watched her leave the courtyard, thinking quickly. She didn’t  _ seem _ like the enthralled villagers and from her appearance and accent, she wasn’t from the area either. More, she spoke English, which made him believe that she truly did know of him from the vampire.

Making sure his weapons were loose, he mounted up and nudged his borrowed mount after her.

Brigitte was waiting in the middle of the road for him, twisted in the saddle to look over her shoulder. Seeing him, she nodded once and nudged her mount forward as he caught up.

“You’re familiar with him,” McCree guessed and she nodded. “How do I know you’re not under his thrall?”

She shrugged. “You don’t, I guess,” she said. “Yet you’re still following me.”

“True.” McCree nudged his mount up beside hers and she moved over so they could share the road. “How do you know him?”

“He saved my cat,” she said simply and nodded down at the fluffy creature in her saddle cup. It meowed and she leaned down to pet it; the horse listed in that direction and she straightened. “And my horse,” she added, stroking the creature’s neck. “And  _ my  _ life. We would have been dead if it weren’t for him.”

“So you’re opposed to me killing him.”

Brigitte shrugged. “Of course,” she said simply. “But that’s the natural order of things, isn’t it? Humans kill the things that go bump in the night.” She turned her horse toward the edge of town where a path led to a large hill. Atop stood a very odd castle with strange decorations at the eaves and corners. “So you will go to do battle with him and he with you and what will come of it? Just another body.”

“People have come here before,” McCree said and she nodded.

“I’m not here all the time,” she told him. “But I’ve been here often enough to watch hunters like yourself walk up the path to him. As I do with you now I have also walked many up to his gates and watched them enter only to never return.” She sighed. “I’ve given up trying to convince people otherwise.”

McCree mulled that over. “He’s old then,” he said.

“Centuries, by my guess,” Brigitte replied. “Or perhaps that’s just the way he acts.”

“And he’s beaten many hunters.”

“Yes.” Brigitte sounded wistful. “Beaten and buried many that I have seen. I do not know how many more he has beaten and buried before I came around.”

McCree frowned. “Buried?” he echoed.

She almost looked pleased when she turned to him. “Yes,” she said. “He makes sure that the dead are given their rites as they believed it and tries to make sure the bodies make it home; he doesn’t want their immortal spirits to become homesick.”

That matched up with what Athena had told him before –  _ jiangshi _ .

“ _ Jiangshi _ ,” Brigitte corrected when he tried to say it out loud – the downfall of reading his information from Athena. “Yes.”

McCree drummed his fingers on the saddle horn. “Is he…?”

Brigitte shrugged. “I haven’t asked him. It’s not something you do – not when it makes him so upset.”

He considered that as they began the climb up the lonely hill. “He’s not like the other vampires I’ve met.”

“He once lived with honor,” Brigitte replied enigmatically. “Now he believes he doesn’t have any.”

“But he saved you,” McCree pressed.

Brigitte looked down. “He saved a lot of people. I’m just the first that remembered.” She glanced at McCree. “I’m not a vampire,” she told him. “Even when the poison was working its way through me, at the height of my pain, he refused to change me. He sat at my bedside and kept my fever at bay and held my hand through my delirium. When my horse could no longer see he created a talisman so that it could again; I return every year to him if only to renew that talisman.” She sighed. “Yet he still feels he is unworthy of this life.”

“Then why kill the hunters?” McCree blurted.

“No matter what you think of yourself, no matter how much you hate what you become, isn’t your first reaction to danger to defend yourself?” Brigitte wanted to know.

McCree had no answer and they walked for a while in silence. “Why do you keep coming back?” he asked at last.

“He saved my life, he saved my horse, and he saved my cat,” Brigitte told him. “Even though he is…gruff, he is still kind.” She looked down. “I owe him a lot and…he is lonely.”

Unable to help himself, McCree laughed and gestured down at the town. “He has  _ them _ to be his playthings surely?”

Brigitte shrugged and didn’t say anything. He realized that he was alienating her and sighed. They walked in silence.

“Why didn’t he kill me earlier?” he asked. Brigitte didn’t answer. “He had plenty of opportunity – he has the whole town under his thumb. Yet he let me live; he only toyed with me. Why?”

“Perhaps he liked you,” Brigitte said at last as they reached the last turn before the crest of the hill. Ahead of them the dark gates of the vampire’s strange castle loomed. “Perhaps you intrigued him.”

They stopped at the large gates. It was more impressive in many ways than most castles McCree had seen in his life and he whistled. Beyond the large stone walls were yet more walls, each with a large gate that became more and more decorative. The last was painted with red lacquer, looking like blood in the gloom. It looked more like a small city of itself with a maze of stone walls and walkways and ramparts.

To McCree’s surprise, there were gardens as well and trees that cast a light floral scent. He looked at Brigitte who seemed wistful as she looked down the path.

“Will you accompany me further?” McCree asked her.

Brigitte regarded him for a long moment and he could have sworn that her eyes glowed for a moment. “For a ways if you will have me,” she said at last.

They didn’t move and the horses didn’t react to the gloom. Strange lanterns made of thin paper lit the way, hanging from cords set in the walls by iron rods.

“If I die,” McCree said softly. “Will you care for my horses?”

“Hanzo will,” Brigitte replied. “He will return them to their owners as well, if that is your wish.” She glanced at him. “No harm will come to them by his hand; nor will he catch them in his thrall to throw you. They are far safer here than you are. But I shall see to it that they are well.”

McCree scratched his beard and looked down at his arm. Now it glowed bright orange, most likely in reaction to what had to be powerful magic around them. “Thank you,” he said. The woman nodded and nudged her horse forward.

The first courtyard was small, with little decoration and they passed through with no troubles. So was the second and third, though these had fruit trees filled with small pink blossoms. By the fourth there were gardens with flowers and ponds with fish.

As they walked, McCree felt eyes on the back of his head but when he turned he saw no one behind them. It was only by chance that he caught sight of the heavy black shadow over Brigitte and as he drew his weapon he called out a warning to her.

But neither she nor her mount reacted when the shape landed in front of her on the saddle. It clung to the leather with clawed hands, probably catching itself on her stirrup with its back legs. Green-gold eyes peered at McCree around Brigitte who reached out and stroked the midnight fur around its pointed ears. “She won’t hurt you,” Brigitte told McCree. “Put your weapon away.”

“What is that?” McCree demanded.

Brigitte leaned down and it wasn’t lost on McCree that she twisted her body to put it between McCree and the strange shadow-creature. “In the light of the moon she is D’Va,” Brigitte said. “She is my companion.”

There was slight emphasis to the word and McCree paused. Slowly he put his gun back in its holster though he didn’t take his hand off of it. D’va’s ears swung forward and she narrowed her glowing eyes at him. When she opened her mouth, the light of Brigitte’s lantern bounced off of her shiny white fangs. It seemed like a roguish grin, like the Cheshire creature from the Lewis Carroll book that Ana had gotten for him the previous year.

“Yes,” Brigitte told D’Va as if she had spoken, her hand moving to scratch under her black chin. The creature’s grin widened. “Another hunter. Hanzo invited him back.”

Unable to look away, McCree watched the two interact and wondered. “What is she?” he blurted. “I’ve never seen a creature like her.”

“Nor will you again, I would guess,” Brigitte replied. To the strange creature she said, “Off you go! Once I bring him to Hanzo I will join you.”

The creature yowled and leaped away, scrambling with too-long arms up the smooth rock wall and away.

“Not all mysteries of the world need to be solved,” Brigitte murmured as they walked on. “Not all questions require answers.”

It seemed that she was subtly telling him something and as they continued on, McCree thought quietly to himself.


	6. Before the Lord of the Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunter McCree faces off against the vampire lord but the outcome was not quite what he had expected.

The doors, lacquered red with large bronze fittings like snarling creatures, were closed at the top of a set of stone steps. “I think he is homesick,” Brigitte commented when the stopped at the base of the stairs. She dismounted and waited for McCree to do so as well. “I promised I would look after your mounts,” she said and took the reins from McCree’s hands. “There’s a paddock and stables over there,” she added, pointing to McCree’s right. “When you are done, should you survive, they will be there.”

Her horse remained standing where it was as she began leading his mounts away. “And you?” he asked.

Brigitte smiled over her shoulder and he could see D’Va peering at them over a short wall. Seeing his gaze, she grinned that eerie grin of hers. “I promised her I’d run with her tonight,” Brigitte said with a soft smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve worn my other skin.”

Bravely, unafraid that McCree would shoot her in the back for her inhuman nature, Brigitte walked away. He turned and found her mount staring at him with eerie blue eyes. Then it snorted and walked after Brigitte, pushing roughly – but still gentle for such a large creature – past McCree.

Taking a deep breath and checking the sit of his weapons and gear, McCree began the climb to the top of the steps. He took another deep breath and a sip from his water skin as he regarded the doors. Each eave was  _ enormous _ and he wondered how he would be able to open them. Much to his surprise when he touched the door and pushed, the leaf moved silently and easily, revealing a well-lit entryway.

Checking his weapons and gear again, McCree stepped forward and through the doors.

In his travels he had seen many things, traveled to many throne rooms and castles of kings living and dead alike…but thus far he hadn’t seen a place quite like this. Fine silks in shades of blue hung from rings in the ceiling, giving the appearance of life to an empty room. Looking around, McCree could see more of those strange calligraphic symbols that he had seen in the inn – some looked like the ones that Athena said warded against fire, but there were even more that he couldn’t recognize. This time they weren’t hidden but painted in plain sight on large hangings that lined the walls.

He stepped forward, following the path of wooden lanterns with what looked like rice paper coverings. Hard stone gave way to lacquered wooden floors polished to a high shine and he felt dirty walking on them with his boots.

McCree continued anyway, straining his ears to listen for movement.

On the other end of the hall was another set of lacquered red doors and he pushed those open as well. It opened into a large courtyard lined with small trees that rose only to McCree’s knees. The courtyard itself was filled with small pebbles and sand with islands of large stones; a peculiar kind of rake drew his attention to the peculiar patterns of concentric swirls and circles like ripples in water.

Flat stones formed a path and McCree felt like a child again as he stepped across – like he was hopping across a creek. It brought a slight smile to his face but it was bittersweet knowing that he may have to ruin this garden later.

As he walked across the stones, he found a large pond similar to the ones he had seen earlier. In the bottom of the pond he could see colored glass tiles in the symbols like the one he had seen in his bath – decorative and functional – so he guessed that they were perhaps for purification. Perhaps pure or clean water? It would make sense in the bottom of an inn bathtub and in the bottom of a pond.

He straightened and was startled to find the vampire standing on the other side of the courtyard. There was what appeared to be a house made of wood and clay tile. Compared to the opulence of the rooms he had passed through, it seemed almost plain.

“Hello,” the vampire said. His dark eyes lingered on McCree’s bared arm and the hand he had on his weapon. “So you’ve come to kill me.” He seemed almost wistful which further gave McCree pause.

“The woman,” he said instead. “Brigitte. She says that you saved her.”

The vampire seemed surprised but nodded once. “I did.”

McCree slowly pulled out his revolver and the vampire tracked the motion with his eyes. He didn’t appear armed but that didn’t mean anything. As a predator of man he didn’t need one against McCree, strictly speaking; he still had his inhuman speed, strength, and fangs that could pierce through skin and fat and muscle to sup on blood.

“Why?” McCree asked.

Hanzo – no,  _ the vampire _ ; McCree needed to remember this, that he was inhuman and a hunter of man, that he wasn’t a fling, wasn’t someone with whom McCree could imagine a life with or even a few fleeting hours of pleasure – looked away as if ashamed.

“How many times have I stared up at the sky wondering if this is what would finally kill me?” he murmured. “Her horse found me with her battered body and at first I had thought to ease her suffering but she was a fighter and refused to take the easy way out.”

For a long moment McCree stared at the vampire who refused to meet his eyes. “And if I were to kill you now?”

The vampire looked up slowly. “I would not make it easy for you.”

McCree frowned. “I did not expect you to.”

Suddenly the vampire was in his face, too close to bring up his gun in time…if the vampire meant to attack. “And what would be your reason to kill me, hunter?” he asked though it didn’t sound very threatening. He sounded honestly curious which gave McCree further pause.

“You hold an entire village under your thrall,” McCree said. “No matter what you did to me when you put your powers against me.”

Again, the vampire seemed surprised and gravitated closer, nearly pressing himself up into McCree’s space. It sent warning bells off in his head – it was natural, given the kind of predator the vampire was – but his gut feeling told him that he wasn’t in any danger.

Yet.

He just needed to watch his words.

“I took from you nothing that you didn’t want,” the vampire said. “And my death would free the villagers, yes. But as humans cultivate herds of cattle and sheep and flocks of birds of all kinds, so too do I have my food near me that I need not hunt much further.”

McCree peered down at the vampire, noting the slight pallor of his skin and the dark shade of his eyes. Even now, knowing that he was so very capable of killing McCree before he could even blink, he was beautiful.

“I want; yes,” McCree said and nearly flinched at the tense.  _ Want _ …he should have want _ ed _ . But the vampire checked off so very many boxes for his libido that it was very tempting to give in and think with his dick. “But I did not invite you.”

The vampire blinked and seemed to smile just a little. It was subtleties with him, McCree had come to learn. This time the smile came from his eyes and they crinkled slightly, the cold gaze lifting ever so slightly. “Did you not?” he asked. “Even now I can see that you want me; you cannot lie to a monster such as I that preys on the blood of men.” He spat the words out like bile and McCree slowly put his gun away, considering.

Knowing that he was pushing his luck, he lifted both hands to cup the vampire’s face. The vampire startled, his eyes widening in shock. “Yeah,” McCree said. “Ain’t gonna lie and say that I don’t want you.”

Suddenly his hands were empty and the vampire was across the courtyard, back on the porch of the strange wooden house. There was a short sword in his hand but it wasn’t like the blades McCree was used to seeing. Set in a wood handle decorated with braided rope, it was curved slightly and sharpened only on one end. The scabbard, a plain lacquered wooden thing, was held in his other hand.

“What sort of hunter lies with his prey?” the vampire asked, an unreadable look on his face.

McCree frowned. “Is that not what you did with me?” he challenged and reached for his gun again, wary of what the vampire might do. “Played with your food?”

“I took nothing that wasn’t already offered,” the vampire told him in a flat voice.

They stood off against each other for a long while, neither moving from their pose. McCree racked his brain, knowing that in a fight like this he didn’t stand a chance against Hanzo –  _ the vampire _ . He straightened and lifted his hand off his gun.

McCree bravely took a step forward and then another, bringing him up beside one of the large stones that littered the garden. It had a flat portion like a shelf and here he placed his gun (carefully because Peacekeeper was dear to him) and his crossbow. He felt naked without them and couldn’t help the tiniest shiver as he stepped away from the comfort of his weapons. Even though he technically wasn’t weaponless – had a few flashbangs that he knew in the past worked well against vampires for their bright flare of light like the sun and assorted knives – he felt naked against the vampire in front of him.

In some ways he was.

He followed the path closer to the vampire and paused at the base of the wooden steps. The vampire hadn’t moved but his brow was now furrowed, a frown turning down the corners of his lips.

McCree put a foot on the steps and stopped, peering up at the vampire. The short sword was now pointing in his direction but not quite at him, clearly held at the ready for action should it be warranted. He swallowed hard. “You’re  _ jiangshi _ .”

“I am not,” the vampire said immediately and then paused. “At least…perhaps that is not the entire truth.”

Taking a step forward, McCree put his other foot on the next step. “You are a vampire.”

“That much is obvious.”

McCree climbed another step and the short sword hovered just in front of his left shoulder. “You don’t want to kill me either.” Despite the phrasing it was more of a question. He climbed another step and the vampire – well, he supposed he really  _ could _ call him “Hanzo” now – moved the angled tip of the short sword just above his shoulder. It was still dangerously close to his neck – a twist would be all that was needed to cut into his throat – but that Hanzo moved it away was telling.

“It is not my desire to seek to kill,” Hanzo said softly. His eyes seemed sad now. “Not if I can avoid it.”

Another step took McCree close enough to touch Hanzo’s sword arm and he did, gently gripping his wrist in his prosthetic hand and tugging it aside. He knew that Hanzo let him do so; if he had been opposed to the motion, he would have fought and McCree would not have won that test of strength.  

It all clicked and McCree stepped closer. Now he was just a step below Hanzo, their difference in height making them nearly eye-to-eye now. “That’s why you have a village,” McCree murmured. “That’s why they’re  _ all _ under your thrall.”

Hanzo looked away; McCree blinked and he was further down the covered porch, the short sword in his hand sheathed and returned to the tie around his waist.

“Instead of killing  _ one _ you spread your meal out among many,” McCree breathed, fascinated. Hanzo hissed, sounding more like the monsters that McCree was used to, but he ignored it and climbed up to the porch, stepping closer to the vampire. “You won’t kill me,” McCree said.

A moment later he was pinned against the wall, both arms held over his head while Hanzo squeezed his throat with his other. “I have killed more for less,” Hanzo hissed, a trace of red creeping into the sclera of his eyes.

McCree opened his jaw and was surprised when Hanzo released his grip – slightly – to let him speak. “But you won’t,” he said in a breathy croak, all that Hanzo let him. “You want something from me; otherwise you’d have killed me before.” He licked his dry lips and watched Hanzo’s eyes flick downward at the motion. “Perhaps you’re lonely.” He tugged his right arm and was only a little surprised when Hanzo’s eyes flicked up toward it and he released it. McCree bit the finger of his glove and pulled it off, flicking it aside; Hanzo twitched, surprised, when McCree traced his jaw with the back of his knuckles.

Hanzo’s face went startlingly, uncomfortably blank and he went as still as a statue – a statue still holding McCree pinned against the wall by his throat and prosthetic hand.

“You made it clear what you wanted,” McCree said, searching the vampire’s face. “Earlier. Tell me…has this changed?”

When Hanzo made no reply, didn’t move, McCree twisted his hand to gently cup the curve of Hanzo’s jaw, brushing a thumb over his cheek. Hanzo didn’t blink, didn’t move; didn’t even appear to breathe for a long, terrifying moment. Then slowly, as if reluctant and against his will, he tilted his head into the caress.

McCree leaned forward against the arms pinning him and they fell away; with his prosthetic hand he reached for Hanzo, tugging him closer by the waist so that now they were pressed together from chest to knee and McCree was pinned in another way. He brushed a thumb over Hanzo’s lips.

“What kind of hunter are you?” Hanzo asked and seeing the flash of his fangs  _ shouldn’t _ affect McCree so much. From the twist of his lips, Hanzo had seen it and tried to pull away; McCree gripped him tighter. “To desire to lay with a monster such as I?”

Unable to help himself, McCree smirked. “And what kind of monster are you to not wish to steal away my soul? My virtue?”

For a long moment McCree was afraid that he had overstepped, that he had taken too many liberties in taunting the vampire, and wondered if his life was about to end because he thought too much with his dick.

Then he was pressed more firmly against the wall and Hanzo followed, slotting one of his legs between McCree’s. McCree’s hands were pressed against the wall beside his head, pinned by both of Hanzo’s. His lips and breath were cool as the vampire leaned in to whisper, “Well, hunter? Do you intend to tempt me with your virtue? Or with your debauchery?”

McCree bucked, startled at the way Hanzo’s throaty voice affected him, and gasped when he ground against the firm muscle of the vampire’s leg and hip between his. “Oh shit,” he whispered.

“I am not sure which I find more appealing,” Hanzo murmured and McCree threw his head back, baring his throat. The vampire spoke close enough to the thin skin over his jugular that he could  _ feel _ his voice and the gentle brush of his lips. “The idea of your virtue for me to steal or the test of your patience and experience as I debase you for my pleasure?”

When McCree opened his mouth to offer a witty response ( _ ain’t no virgin, darlin’; that I can assure you _ ), he gasped instead and a broken noise escaped his throat when Hanzo pressed his open lips against his throat, brushed the safe edges of his fangs against his beating pulse, and sucked a lurid mark. Bucking, McCree groaned again when Hanzo rolled his hips against his and ground his thigh against McCree’s erection.

“Is that it, then?” Hanzo asked, releasing one of McCree’s hands to tip his head further back. “In an instant I could end your life and sup on your blood to my contentment and yet when I brush my lips to your throat all you can do is rut against me like a dog.”

McCree growled or tried to - it tapered off into a high, needy whine when Hanzo rolled his hips again. “I’ll show  _ you _ rutting,” he growled. 

“Will you, now?” Hanzo snarled into his ear. “Right here for all to see?”

The vampire growled, a low sound of arousal rather than anger when McCree bucked hard into his thigh. “Naw,” he said with a cocky grin. “You ain’t gonna do that. You want me all to yourself, want no one else’s eyes on me but you.” 

Hanzo chuckled, low and dark against his throat as if he couldn’t bear to pull away. “How very true.” And then he was gone, hovering by the door. “Come, hunter,” he purred. “Enter my domain; I invite you.” 

Grinning, McCree followed him through the doors. 


	7. A Pet of the Lord

McCree lost track of the many twists and turns they took before reaching their destination. The room that Hanzo took them to was opulent, lit warmly by the same witchlights he had seen in the village. Heavy curtains were drawn over the windows and McCree grinned despite the arousal that thundered through his veins. 

He looked around and Hanzo let him, watching from a corner with a smug smile. The bed was  _ enormous _ , large enough that should he choose to he could sprawl out in the middle of the bed and not touch the sides. 

Turning, he found Hanzo staring at him with hunger in his eyes. But he knew that it wasn’t blood-hunger, but a desire for a different kind of flesh. McCree couldn’t find it in him to be afraid even when Hanzo licked his lips and bared his too-long teeth. 

“Strip for me, hunter,” Hanzo said. “Let me see you.”

McCree’s fingers jumped to his belt and he shucked it faster than he had ever done so before. It was followed by the armor over his legs and then the thick leather pants he wore. As each piece dropped, Hanzo’s eyes traced greedily over him. 

As the last item of clothing dropped McCree found himself once more pinned, this time with the vampire sitting astride his thighs. “What a feast,” Hanzo purred, his eyes roving McCree’s body. He licked his lips. “Oh, where to begin…”

When McCree opened his mouth to speak, he found himself bodily flipped and then forced to all fours. He gasped at the show of strength, feeling himself hanging hot and hard between his legs. 

“Is that all it takes?” the vampire mused and McCree groaned, low and embarrassingly loud when Hanzo’s hand closed around his cock. “A little rough play and a little praise?” He toyed with the foreskin, slid up the shaft, palmed the heavy weight of his balls. “Tell me, hunter, have you ever been mounted?”

McCree gasped at the crude wording, twitching in Hanzo’s grasp. His mouth worked to answer but all that escaped were breathy gasps as Hanzo worked him, stoking from root to tip, pressing fingers against the skin just behind his balls, teasing the sensitive skin on the insides of his thighs and in the cleft of his ass. 

“I shall take that as a ‘no’, then,” Hanzo said briskly. One hand remained firmly around McCree’s hot cock while the other slipped up to his ass, his fingers worming their way between his cheeks to press against that which no one else had touched before. 

It tickled, felt odd, and McCree jumped, bucked, as skittish as a scared horse. Hanzo treated him as such, shushing him gently. “It’s okay,” he murmured and squeezed the tip of McCree’s cock, making him groan and buck into his hand. “Just relax.”

Then Hanzo was gone and McCree didn’t know how empty he felt without the vampire there, without his presence and his voice and the smooth way he ordered McCree around like a dog. He jumped when Hanzo’s cool hands returned.

“Did you miss me, sweet?” Hanzo purred. His hands were slick when they returned to McCree’s body and he gasped. “You must  _ relax _ , my pet,” he murmured. 

McCree shuddered as a finger slipped into him -  _ into him _ \- and twisted, wiggling around in what felt like unnatural ways. 

“I can feel you,” Hanzo murmured, his breath puffing against McCree’s ass and he jumped, gasping as his legs threatened to give out. “Clenching up around me. How will you feel with my cock splitting you open?” he wanted to know. “I bet you will feel so nice clenching around me.” 

He would probably be embarrassed by the noises he made but he couldn’t find it in him as Hanzo’s hands clenched tight around his cock and slid it slowly down, forming a makeshift sheath for him to fuck into. 

Hanzo’s fingers twisted and curled inside and McCree cried out, bucking his hips forward into the tight clench of Hanzo’s other hand. “ _ There _ , we go,” Hanzo murmured, voice thick and smug. 

Suddenly McCree was empty - devastatingly empty and he gasped into the covers at such a feeling. Then he was flipped to stare up at the canopy of the bed. 

“I want to see your face as I open you up,” Hanzo said, a hand closing around McCree’s cock again. This time two fingers wiggled deep inside and McCree gasped, arching his back. Somehow he didn’t think to reach for Hanzo, only reached up, gripping the headboard and pillows at the delectable stretch, at the teasing motions of Hanzo’s clenched fist over his leaking cock. “I want to watch you as you learn to love this: being filled and mounted like a bitch. Love writhing and crying for me on the bed. Love surrendering yourself to me.” 

McCree gasped again as the fingers buried in him twisted and slowly began pistoning inside him, gaining speed and strength. Combined with the teasing touches on his cock, he felt his balls drawing up, felt the swoop in his gut from approaching orgasm. 

Once more Hanzo’s hands disappeared and McCree was left clenching around nothing as his cock slapped against his belly. “Please!” he surprised himself by begging. “Please!” He could feel Hanzo’s fingers at his hole again; this time there were three. “Please!” he begged. “Please fuck me.”

“Such crude words from a crude mouth,” Hanzo growled and his fingers traced teasing trails over his slick hole. “Perhaps I should put it to better use?” 

The next thing McCree knew his face was being straddled, Hanzo’s knees resting on the bed just above McCree’s shoulders. His cock bobbed, hot and heavy, just above his lips. A drop of pre bubbled out, dropped in a sticky, crystalline trail until McCree licked it out of the air. 

A slick hand touched McCree’s jaw with surprising gentility. “Open up,” Hanzo ordered and McCree was helpless to obey, his mouth dropping open and tongue lolling out to guide the slick head of the vampire’s cock into his mouth. 

McCree was rewarded with three fingers wiggling inside him, twisting and churning to get him used to the burn which made him  _ groan _ , long and low. Above him Hanzo snarled and his hips bucked, his fingers shoving in harder, faster. 

It was almost too fast as Hanzo set a breakneck pace. He barely had the ability or the space to breathe but the heady scent of Hanzo’s arousal, hot and musky, and the feeling of his clever fingers moving and twisting deep within him, spreading to prepare him for something else. 

Hanzo was merciless, bucking his hips and sending his cock down into McCree’s throat while he fucked into the hunter with his fingers, filling him from both ends at the same time. It took a while for McCree to realize that the muffled sound, of gurgles and guttural groans was  _ him _ , was him whimpering so nicely, so  _ whorish _ even as Hanzo’s balls slapped against his nose as he bucked deeper, shoved his cock into McCree’s throat and held still, plugging him and making him hold it. 

With his hands he wiggled and writhed and curled his fingers until McCree was writhing himself, his heavy cock slapping against his stomach as he sought to push down against that fleeting, delightful fullness, the sensations like lightning shooting throughout his body. 

His breathing was ragged and messy, spit running down the sides of his face when Hanzo finally pulled back with a smug smile. 

“You look so lovely while choking on me,” Hanzo murmured as McCree caught his breath. “I’d love to see how you look while  _ impaled _ upon me.” 

McCree was ragdoll limp as he was picked up and arranged just so in Hanzo’s lap. To his shame he realized that the vampire was still more or less fully dressed. It made him feel inferior, below Hanzo to be so debauched already when Hanzo didn’t seem to be affected. 

But McCree knew better. He could hear the low grumbles of lustful hunger, could feel the eager tremble in Hanzo’s hands as he slowly guided him down, splitting him open on the bulbous head of his cock. 

It was a fullness like McCree had never felt and he gasped, his head tipping back and his back arching as Hanzo slowly lowered him into his lap. Hanzo’s breath was as ragged as McCree’s and if he could he would be smug about it. 

As it was, all McCree could do was sit there and bask in the feeling of being  _ so full _ , of feeling the twitches of Hanzo’s cock, the way his hands and hips shook as they restrained themselves from fucking into him. 

Grinning, McCree looked back at Hanzo. “Well?” he taunted. “Weren’t you saying something about mounting me?” 

Hanzo snarled and McCree suddenly found himself face-down on the bed. The vampire rocked his hips and McCree gave a choked gasp into the sheets. “Like the bitch you are,” Hanzo agreed and then his hips were moving, pistoning faster and harder as he gained momentum, gathered strength from the broken sounds that McCree made. 

Such a stretch! He could feel  _ everything _ : every curve and bump and ridge, it all pressed delectably on his walls. There was an ache that would be prevalent tomorrow but for now he could ignore the consequences and enjoy himself. 

“I wonder if you could come by cock alone?” the vampire mused, his breaths huffing against the back of McCree’s neck. “If not now then perhaps I shall teach you? Teach you to love this stretch? Or perhaps love to be on your knees, worshipping my cock while plugged with something to fill your needy hole?” 

McCree growled into the blankets, drooling as he was shoved harder, down and forward, with each punishing thrust. “Yes!” he cried, digging his nails into the bedsheets, feeling it rip beneath the clawed tips of his prosthetic hand. “Please!”

He grunted, clenched tightly around the thickness that filled him, when one of Hanzo’s hands shifted into his hair, yanking his head back. “‘Yes?’ ‘Please?’ What is it, my pet? Tell me what you wish. Speak, my mutt.” 

God in Heaven he wanted to hold out! He wanted to grit his teeth against the words that wanted to spill out but Hanzo ground his cock home, rolled his hips and snarled into his ear and suddenly the floodgates opened. 

“Yes!” McCree cried as the thrusts became more punishing, forced him deeper into the mattress. His neck and back arched, his scalp ached as his head was yanked further back. “Please, fuck me!” 

Hanzo chuckled breathlessly, his voice a rumbling growl. “Yes,” he snarled. “Is that not what I’m doing?”

“More, please,” McCree begged without realizing he was doing it. “Harder, harder!” 

He felt one of Hanzo’s hands shift down to grip his chest. Never before had his chest felt so sensitive, never before had it opened a lightning-hot line straight to his cock. “Do you like it this way, my pet? My lovely mutt?” Hanzo asked. “Being fucked like a bitch?” 

McCree sobbed. “Yes! Yes!” He felt the swoop in his gut as his orgasm approached. “Please, harder, harder!”

“Harder, what?” Hanzo asked, releasing McCree’s head and leaning back. His thrust slowed to a stop and he rested there, both hands moving to split open the globes of McCree’s ass to stare at where they were joined. 

McCree swallowed. “Please,” he begged. “Please fuck me harder?”

Hanzo hummed. 

McCree groaned when he felt Hanzo’s thumbs press against where they were joined, toying with his slick rim. It hit him suddenly what Hanzo wanted. He couldn’t find it in him to care of the repercussions. “Please, master,” he whispered. “Please master, fuck me harder.” 

Snarling, Hanzo pushed him down again and ground deeper. “Of course, my pet,” he murmured, his voice gentle despite his punishing thrusts. “I will fuck you until you cum on my cock, my dear mutt. I will fuck you until you have no voice left to scream, until you crave me filling you up as I am now.” 

Hanzo reached down with one of his hands to wrap around McCree’s cock and he was gone. He came with a broken scream, feeling his ass clench around the hot length spreading him wide. 

When he regained his senses, he realized that Hanzo was still hard and hot in him, his hips shifting in incremental arcs. He whimpered. “Oh,” Hanzo breathed. “My darling pet. If you think I am done with you, then you are so very mistaken. 

McCree cried out when Hanzo tugged him into his lap, leaning back against the headboard. He bucked, sensitive, overwhelmed, as he seemed to sink even deeper on Hanzo’s cock. 

“Let’s see how much you want it, my pet.” McCree gasped, clenching around Hanzo who remained frustratingly calm despite the tremble in his hands. Hanzo slapped McCree’s flank hard, making him bob and clench. “Well, my pet?  _ Ride _ .”


	8. In the Cursed Forest of Bern

“Do you know your places?” Father Morrison fussed quietly to Hunter Reyes as they rode up behind the servant of the lord.

Hunter Reyes snorted. On Father Morrison’s other side, the Captain of the Guard was oddly silent. “This servant,” he said quietly. “Father...she…”

“It cannot be,” Father Morrison said, waving it off. “But we must focus now for we may be moving into the presence of a powerful lord or a vampire. We must tread lightly.”

The servant, who had introduced herself as Brigitte and who wore a bearskin cloak that covered her face, led them through a large wooden gate of lacquered wood. “How odd that this lord chooses to lacquer,” Father Morrison said.

“The castle is built in the way of his people,” Brigitte replied without looking at them through the eye holes of her bearskin cape and hood.

Brigitte took them through a series of gates, over bridges with little streams, and through gardens with many strange flowers. “Where is he from?” Hunter Reyes asked tightly. A foreign lord wasn’t always peculiar, but a lot of times it was a sign of vampirism. It also meant that he had to tread lightly, for his suspicion could be unfounded. “I have never seen such plants or of buildings raised in this manner.”

“Forgive Hunter Reyes,” Father Morrison said though Brigitte showed no indication that she would have answered. “We have traveled a long way and he is tired. All he thinks about is his hunts and that carries over to his personality.”

The servant seemed to ignore them, turning her horse down another wide path into a large courtyard. This looked more like the castles and towns they were used to, with stables and paddocks for horses and houses - albeit strange-looking ones - that served as inns. A few boys and a handful of girls scrambled out of the stables as they approached and bowed.

Brigitte spoke to them in quiet German and they bowed to her again. “The children will take your horses and gear.” A few women came out of the surrounding buildings and curtseyed. “The women will see that your men are housed comfortably.” she turned to Father Morrison. “The lord and his consort seek audience with you and those you trust. Tonight there shall be a feast where you are all welcomed but now they seek to address you.”

As Father Morrison dismounted, he thought quickly. “Hunter Reyes, Lieutenant Wilhelm, with me,” he decided. He turned to the alchemist Ana Amari and her daughter Fareeha. “Ana, you will be with me as well. Fareeha, see that the men and gear are settled.” Though her lips were twisted into a moue of distaste, Fareeha saluted and turned to bark orders. He turned back to Brigitte. “Hopefully your lord is merciful for we are weary and tired from our journey.”

“It is of no consequence to him,” Brigitte replied. “Follow me.”

She led them up a long set of shallow stairs to another courtyard. It was occupied by a garden of stones and boulders and a few pine trees twisted into odd patterns that seemed deliberate. At the center of the courtyard was a tall building built as strangely as the rest of the castle, with oddly curved eaves and long serpentine creatures carved of stone and lacquered blue and red to match the rest.

They passed a large room that seemed occupied only by a large bronze bell with a motif of the same serpentine gargoyles that decorated the eaves.

“These are dragons,” Hunter Reyes said with a frown. He inspected the bell.

“Those are not dragons,” Father Morrison dismissed.

Hunter Reyes shook his head. “Not the European breeds,” he clarified. “But these motifs are present in Asia - Chinese dragons.”

“Not Chinese,” Brigitte replied. “But dragons, yes. Chinese dragons have four or five talons; the Japanese have three; Korean dragons appear similar but with longer beards.” She stood at the other door, the snarling mouth of the bear covering most of her face.

Lieutenant Wilhelm took a large step toward her. “I must know,” he said softly. “But-”

“The lord is waiting,” Brigitte interrupted. “As is his consort.”

At Father Morrison’s nod, Lieutenant Wilhelm fell back into place and he pretended not to notice the way Ana patted his big arm soothingly. “It can’t be her,” Ana whispered but there was a hint of doubt.

“She died,” Lieutenant Wilhelm agreed just as quietly. “I saw it myself. The bear...”

“Brigitte,” Hunter Reyes asked and Father Morrison huffed. “You say that the castle is created in the fashion of the lord’s people, correct?”

“He had the castle built by the example of the castles he had visited in his youth, yes,” Brigitte replied evenly. She slid open what looked at first to be a decorative wooden panel but revealed itself as a sliding door. “It serves as a double purpose: it is a shrine and a temple as well as the home to my lord.”

“He is from Asia,” Hunter Reyes guessed. “These resemble the paintings I’ve seen of-”

“Yes,” Brigitte interrupted. “You may ask him more later. For now, I bring you to the lord and his consort.” She led them deeper into the castle.

At last she led them to a large set of lacquered wooden doors decorated with two serpentine creatures, one on each leaf - dragons, as Hunter Reyes had called them.

Brigitte turned. “Are you ready?”

She watched as they went over their appearances, brushing as much dirt from their clothes as they could, straightening collars and hems and hair. “We are ready,” Father Morrison declared, turning back to her. “You may present us to your lord, now.”

Much to their surprise, she laughed and lifted her hand to the bearskin cloak, pulling it off to reveal a freckled face and red hair pulled into two braids framing her face. Brigitte Lindholm, former squire of Lieutenant Wilhelm, grinned at their shocked looks.

“This way,” she said and fastened the cloak again around her shoulders. With both hands braced against the doors she pushed them open to reveal a large entryway with a vaulted ceiling. Ahead was a narrow walkway with a bridge over an open lower level, a wide platform with a kind of braided straw mat over the floor. Ahead was a low dais, framed by a large canvas scroll featuring strange symbols.

A man in a long coat and dark trousers knelt on a silk cushion on the dais, his attention on the woman that knelt in front of him. He had long black hair that was streaked with grey and silver at the temples and his skin and features hinted that this must be the lord of the castle.

Before him knelt a woman with long auburn hair that was pulled up behind her head in a messy knot. Her hair was decorated with wine-red feathers and glittering golden chains. Her back was bare, revealing tanned skin and a multitude of scars - scars that Father Morrison was more accustomed to seeing on a warrior or a Hunter.

“Wait a minute…” Hunter Reyes muttered as they filed in.

The woman kneeling before the dais was dressed in a lovely cotton robe in scarlet with a rainbow of embroidered hues like swirling wings and feathers. She wore a leather collar around her neck that was decorated, like her hair, with feathers though these were in black.

There was no question as to what she was doing, kneeling before the lord of the castle, her large hands gripping his thighs and her head bobbing as wet sounds filled the air. Father Morrison pulled up short but Brigitte continued forward.

“You two are disgusting,” she said in a very un-servant-like way.

The lord lifted his head and smiled slowly. “I cannot help it,” he said in a slow drawl, his eyes half-lidded like a particularly pleased cat. “He has such lovely lips.”

Brigitte snorted. “Well you have visitors that - might I add - _you_ invited.”

The lord sighed. “A pity,” he murmured and lifted a hand to brush the top of the woman’s head as it bobbed in his lap. “My apologies darling pet, it seems that we will need to postpone this. Why don’t you clean up and welcome our guests?”

With a reluctant - and obscene - sound, the woman pulled away and they could see the way her back moved as she breathed. They watched her lift a hand to her mouth to wipe her lips. Her unfeminine, strangely broad shoulders hid their view of the lord from the waist down but they had no doubt that she was tucking him away from view.

Then she stood and turned, revealing that “she” was not a woman at all but none other than Hunter Jesse McCree.

He was dressed in a loose kind of trouser that tied at the waist and save for the jacket still draped over his elbows he was shirtless, revealing gold chains that traveled from his pierced nipples, up to the collar of feathers, and down beneath the tie of his strange trousers.

As if he hadn’t been doing an unspeakable act with another man, Hunter McCree swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and walked down the shallow steps with a sagger. “Well hello there,” he said. He tipped an imaginary hat at Brigitte. “Thanks, Brigitte. I got it from here.” He grinned, his teeth just a little too sharp and his eyes a little too dark. Behind him, the lord of the castle stood up. “I reckon we got some talking to do.”

As Brigitte left, Hunter McCree nodded to the lord behind him as he descended the steps toward them, making the jeweled drops hanging from the golden chains decorating his chest wiggle and catch the light of the fading sun. “That’s Hanzo, lord of these lands,” he said. He waggled his eyebrows. “And my husband.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that's the end of it. 
> 
> Many thanks to the lovely [Akh-irr](http://akh-irr.tumblr.com/) for the inspiration. This was so much fun! :D 
> 
> Thank you to everyone that had read this. Feel free to come and yell at me on my tumblr at [Classywastelandbread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/)
> 
> ~DC

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by art by [Akh-irr](http://akh-irr.tumblr.com/).
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [Classywastelandbread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/). Feel free to come and yell at me! :D
> 
> ~DC


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